


The Skill of Waiting

by MayumiSato



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anxiety, Autism, Based on personal experiences as an aspie, Burnout - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 16:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayumiSato/pseuds/MayumiSato
Summary: After going to a big social event with bright white lights, aspie Alfred has a burnout and Arthur has to give him space to recover.





	The Skill of Waiting

"I really, really, really don’t wanna go to the party.”

It was the sixth time in the last ten minutes Alfred had repeated this sentence, staring down his reflection in the mirror as he fumbled with his suit. Meanwhile, Arthur just kept trying to tame his own hair with a blow dryer and a brush across the room, comforting his husband with just an ‘I know, I know’ line, said in a sympathetic tone. He was used to Alfred saying the same thing multiple times.

“I don’t want to go!” Alfred repeated himself. "Urgh, I really don’t wanna do it.”

“I’m aware of that, dear.” Arthur casually said.

He knew that Alfred often said what he was feeling automatically. He wasn’t really waiting for an answer. So the best thing to do when Alfred was persistently saying the same thing was to just give him room to keep talking. Eventually, he would emerge from this state in which he was only spitting words that projected his feelings and would say something that Arthur could actually reply to. For example…

"Do we really have to go to this party?"

"Well, to be honest, I'd rather you didn’t go, but you told me that I should insist for you to go, even if you changed your mind the day of the party," Arthur reminded Alfred, approaching him to straighten his tie. "Don’t be so down about it. It's going to be a great event." he smiled, pitying his husband, but trying to be encouraging. “You can’t send your representatives to all social events you’re invited to. You told me that yourself.”

"I know, I know..." Alfred grunted, closing his eyes and touching the center of his forehead. "Damn, I hate being so smart.”

"Yes, that must be awful." Arthur teased, kissing Alfred on the cheek.

Alfred kept making a displeased face, but he put his arms around Arthur, pulling him into a hug.

* * *

 

The party would be the ten-year anniversary of Alfred's company: Alien Tech For The Future. Despite its extremely silly name - which, of course, was chosen by Alfred - Alien Tech for the Future had been a pioneer in a number of sustainable technologies and was one of the tech companies that had grown the most in the last decade. It encouraged creativity, flexibility and the well-being of its employees.

No one imagined that Alfred's method of doing business would ever work. He was trained in robotic engineering, not in management. People really thought he had no idea what he was doing. It didn’t seem profitable to give so much freedom and benefits to employees. Not to mention that his product designs looked like something out of comic books. They didn’t fit the market because they really didn’t remember anything that was on it. Or anywhere outside fiction, really. Indeed, the first three years in business were very difficult and Alfred had little profit and a lot of stress. But then came salvation.

A famous comedian wanted to include a scene in his movie that referenced Alfred’s company. In the scene, his lame and dumb male character would try to use Alfred's products to impress a girl, only to end up just making her more confused and weirded out about him. The scene would end with the character saying "How come you didn’t like my kitchen?! It’s all made with Alien Tech For The Future!" and the female character looking at him like he had lost his mind before he realized how he sounded and added “That’s the name of the company! The name of the company!”.

It was a bit of a mean joke at the expense of his company but Alfred ended up accepting it because he thought being referenced in a movie was cool either way.

And wouldn’t you know it? It was cool. One week after the movie’s release, Alfred made more sales than he had in the last three years. Several people who watched the movie became somewhat intrigued by Alfred's electronic products that appeared in it and decided to try them out. Some people even bought them as a joke before finding out that hey! They worked really well!

In two more years, Alfred had established himself as one of the biggest names in business in the world. It was also at this point in his life that he met up with Arthur, an old childhood friend, who came to interview him for a story the newspaper in which he worked now. Arthur honestly came with the lowest expectations about their meeting, assuming that Alfred wouldn’t remember him, but how could Alfred forget his first love?

They got married a year later.

* * *

 

 

Alfred was good at inventing new things, planning stuff and doing huge calculations on his head. He was bad at driving, things that required motor coordination in general and social interactions for long periods of time. He usually avoided the media and his company’s events, but from time to time he felt he needed to appear and remind people about his existence.

"I don’t want people to think that my company is really led by aliens,” he explained to Arthur while they got in the car, ready to go to the anniversary.

"It isn’t?" Arthur faked shock, putting a hand over his chest while the other went to the wheel.

“Oh, shut up.” Alfred laughed. Despite being an aspie, he could understand and appreciate Arthur's sarcasm and constant practice was making him better and better at it. "Well, there's also the fact that a lot of top business people will be there tonight and since neurotypicals for some reason, have a better impression of people by talking to them in person, I need do this.”

"Which stereotype is that?" Arthur criticized, starting the car.

“It's just the truth.” Alfred shrugged. "If I sent you or one of my representatives to tell a huge business person I wanted to make business with them, their impression of me wouldn’t be as positive as they would have if I told them that myself. Believe me, I learned this the hard way.”

"Hm..." Arthur put thought into it. "I suppose it would seem rather disinterested if you sent the message instead of trying to talk to them directly.”

“Why? If I was disinterested, wouldn’t it be so much easier to not even send the message?” Alfred rebutted, folding his arms over his chest.

“Well, that's ... Uh... " Alfred was right.  It really was a neurotypical thing. Therefore, it would be difficult to explain this in a way that Alfred could accept. "Okay, think of it like flirting. You can send a message through a third-party but the other person will be more interested if they see you making an effort to talk to them.”

“But I’m not flirting, Arthur.”

“It’s like flirting. Not actual flirting.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s okay but try to keep in mind what I said.”

“What should I do, then?” Alfred asked, slightly annoyed. “Should I bring flowers and chocolates for the other CEOS?” he rolled his eyes.

... Perhaps? Arthur didn’t know if that was a bad idea, really. He wasn’t a businessman. Having better social skills than Alfred's didn’t mean that he could handle all the situations Alfred had to face in his life.

"Uh, I don’t know for sure,” he admitted. “Just use your usual strategy. It seems to be working.”

"Of course it's working." Alfred smiled smugly. “After all, I ... Oh, fuck!”

Alfred closed his eyes tightly. The street they had just entered had white LED lights. White LED lights were probably his greatest enemy in contemporary society.

"They're so bright, man. I can still see them even with my eyes closed!” he complained.

"Oh, the lights on this street are white?”

“How can you not notice it?! They are, like, ten thousand times stronger and worse than the yellow ones!”

“Sorry, love. They all look the same to me.” Arthur smiled apologetically.

“I’m really envious of you right now.” Alfred grunts, covering his face with his hands. "Urgh ... Thank goodness that the party will have only yellow lights."

* * *

 

 

There was a misunderstanding somewhere in the organization of the event and the dining room, where most of the party would happen, was all lit with bright white lights. Alfred, of course, was freaking the fuck out.

As they entered the room, he began to swing back and forth, hugging his own body. His facial expressions didn’t change that much in crisis situations, so that was the best sign that his feelings could be translated as ‘holy shit, I'm so fucked’ that Arthur could get from him.

Initially, Arthur didn’t even realize what exactly was happening. He thought the huge number of people might be the cause of his disturbance. Sometimes Alfred got anxious in crowded places. However, even going taking Alfred to a corner with almost nobody around, he continued to swing his body. Arthur, then, looked up and realized that the problem was the lights.

“Oh, dear. Are you sure you want to stay here, love?” Arthur checked apprehensive. 

"Yeah," Alfred replied, his eyes unfocused, still rocking back and forth, but making a visible effort so that this movement didn’t become too apparent. "I'm not a loser. A bunch of stupid ass lights won’t stop me from getting a millionaire contract. "

"Having sensory demodulation doesn’t make anyone a loser."

"Heh. Tell that to my former high school classmates. "Alfred smiled bitterly.

"I did and I also punched them in the face, "Arthur reminded him.

"Oh, yeah! I love you so much, Artie. "Alfred laughed a little. Arthur noticed that he was shaking, but decided not to mention it to him since Alfred was clearly making a effort to stay in control of the situation. "You promise you'll stay by my side today?"

"I'll always be by your side, Alfred," Arthur promised, caressing his husband's face.

"Awww." Alfred put his hand on his chest, looking a bit moved, before adding serious. "But like, literally, dude. Will you _literally_ stand by my side today?"

"Yes, I will. You can count on me."

Alfred let out a long sigh of relief.

"One hour. Let's stay an hour and then we'll leave," he proposed to Arthur.

* * *

 

 Alfred had some social skills. He seemed charismatic when he wanted to. People generally wouldn’t guess that he was on the autistic spectrum. He had learned from many movies about the right body language to make a good impression. In addition, he had a technique of assembling several mental scripts of possible ramifications for a dialogue to follow them according to what was happening.

That said, the problems he had with socializations were:

  1. The amount of energy they required.
  2. The fact that when caught by surprise, even by a minor unpredictability, he got completely lost.



Usually, Alfred was able to withstand one, two hours of socializing, before reaching a point of exhaustion in which he needed to stop. However, that day he had to deal with great unpredictability right off the bat. His energy was constantly being consumed by the white lights, even when he was not socializing. Arthur could imagine that this was impacting his husband, but he had no way to be sure of it because Alfred was in his social version, loud and confident that seemed to have the world in his hands.

Only after about thirty minutes, he noticed the first sign that Alfred wasn’t doing well. Alfred began to press the tip of his fingertips against each other as he spoke and to glance in different directions.

Arthur tried to get his attention by pulling his arm and staring into his eyes as if to say "do you want me to get you out of here?". Alfred didn’t get that at all. He kept asking, ‘What? What's it? Why are you looking at me like that?’ right in front of the guest they were talking to. Arthur was forced to disguise what he was doing, smiling and saying, ‘Oh, sorry. I just wanted to ask if you'd like something to drink’.

When the conversation with the guest ended, Arthur had to be more direct and pull Alfred by the arm, whispering in his ear:

“Are you okay? Do you want to leave now?”

“Nope and nope.”

Oh, shit.

"Alfred, you can’t push yourself too much," Arthur whispered with a frown, scolding him.

“We didn’t reach the one hour mark yet. I have to stay. It would be weird if I left before dinner was even served. "Alfred countered in a beat. He was sounding quite logical, but he was moving his hands and head in a way that showed that he was gradually being taken by his anxiety. He was also making involuntary grimaces when the light struck his eyes at certain angles.

Arthur put a hand over his forehead and sighed in frustration. Alfred could be so stubborn at times.

"You won’t be fine," Arthur warned him impatiently.

“I know.”

“And...?”

“And there’s nothing to be done about it,” Alfred stated coldly, before turning to a guest passing nearby and waving at him, charmingly.

Irritated, Arthur simply picked up a glass of champagne served by a passing waiter and stood beside him, drinking in silence.

* * *

 

 

In forty-five minutes of partying, Alfred collapsed. His social mode was completely off, and within seconds he began to have an anxiety attack in the middle of the room. He sat on the floor, held his head and began to rock back and forth frantically. That must have looked very abrupt to everyone around him, but Arthur had seen the clouds announcing this rain a long time ago. Still, it was hard for him to see the person he loved in that state.

The other people at the party were shocked. Some even scandalized. There were several reactions. From curious murmurs to people actively proposing different solutions to the problem - "Call a doctor!", "Give him water!".  It was Arthur who prevented the situation from escalating by saying,

"This is normal. You don’t have to worry about it."

This line was apparently the opposite of what anyone expected to hear. After all, Alfred’s expression wasn’t particularly sad or nervous. On the contrary. His face was more neutral than ever. Because of this, everyone was thinking that he was having a physical health problem. Only Arthur had any idea what Alfred was really feeling at the moment.

He then covered Alfred's face with his suit, to protect it from light and other sensory stimuli and informed him very decisively, without leaving any opening to be contested,

“We’re leaving.”

Alfred, this time, too vulnerable to be stubborn, simply nodded in agreement, got up and followed him.

On the way back home, Alfred continued to rock his body, holding on his head, shaking and muttering a series of incoherent things. Arthur tried to say that everything was fine and that they would soon be home, but this did not have an immediate effect on his husband. Consumed by anxiety, he could barely hear what Arthur was saying. Arthur understood that perhaps it would be better to let him calm down on his own before they talked about what had happened.

When they got home, Alfred went straight into their room, turning on only their bedside lamp then hiding under the sheets.

To give him some personal space, Arthur went into the kitchen and prepared a cup of hot milk with honey, which was a well-known comfort food for Alfred.

However, when he returned, he saw that the traffic light sticker on the door of their room had an arrow next to the red light. This was Alfred's code for "please don’t enter. I want to be absolutely alone".

It was painful to see that. A blow, really. It was difficult to simply leave the person you loved by dealing with a difficult moment alone. Arthur really didn’t want to have to do this, but as hard as that was for him, he knew that it would be even harder for Alfred to force himself to socialize at that moment. His will had to be respected.

With a sigh, Arthur drank some of the milk he had brought to Alfred and headed for the guest room, aware that he would probably sleep there that night.

* * *

 

The next day, Arthur saw that the red light was still on and went into the room merely to pick up some things and see what Alfred would like to eat.

Until then, Alfred had a blank look in his face and his eyes were directed only to the laptop on his lap, but when he heard that question, he began to babble incoherent sounds and bite his lip, nervous, looking at Arthur with vulnerability. Apparently, he was still in a state in which he couldn’t even make decisions.

"Okay, okay. I'm just going to make something that I know you like, "Arthur informed him.

Alfred looked a little relieved with it and went back to the computer.

In a stranger’s perspective, Alfred wouldn’t seem particularly distressed. He just looked like a guy on his computer who was not up to a conversation. Arthur, however, was far from being a stranger. He knew that if Alfred had the red light sign on it was because he was feeling really bad and this should be taken seriously. It was what he communicated, not what his appearance suggested, which Arthur should take as truth.

Besides, there were other small non-verbal signals that Alfred wasn’t well. He had not gotten up from bed or showered, he was ordering fast food all the time and kept flapping in front of his computer, looking immensely frustrated.

He was probably having a burnout. A burnout was basically a peak of exhaustion in which Alfred could not focus on anything, not even in the things he liked. He had these burnouts when he pushed himself too hard to act like a neurotypical. Depending on how long he had forced himself into this role, he could stay that way from two days to several months.

Arthur didn’t think this one would be a particularly long burnout but it looked like it might take a couple of days to pass. Alfred had, after all, had a crisis in the middle of his company’s party. He probably wasn’t even resting properly. Arthur knew that his husband was probably moping over what happened all the time.

Indeed, in two days, Alfred hadn’t fully recovered yet. Still, he showed some small signs of getting better. When Arthur went to his room to ask what he wanted for breakfast, he answered “ah, pancakes, please”, which made Arthur smile.

“How are you feeling?”

“Awful,” Alfred told him sincerely with a completely deadpan expression. “My muscles hurt as if people threw stones at me at the streets.”

“That’s a shame. Do you want a massage?”

“No… I’m not feeling like having physical contact now,” Alfred admitted, lowering his eyes and feeling a bit sheepish about it. 

“That’s fine,” Arthur reassured him gently. “Tell me if I can help with something, okay?”

Alfred nodded.

* * *

 

People tended to think that having a relationship with a person on the autistic spectrum made Arthur practically babysit Alfred all the time, but the reality was almost the opposite of that. In crisis situations like this, the only thing Arthur could do for Alfred was waiting for him to recover on his own. That was basically it. Arthur had known for a long time that when Alfred needed time for himself, there was nothing that would replace the benefits of his personal space. Therefore, helping Alfred wasn’t really time-consuming or tiresome, so to speak, but it was still hard for Arthur not being able to do more for his husband. He missed Alfred and worried about him.

"Don’t you feel rejected by him?" asked Francis, his best friend and worst enemy, during an afternoon tea. By this time, the red light sign had been on the door for four days.

“Why would I?”

“Well, he isn’t leaving his room or talking to you.”

Arthur shook his head, undisturbedly.

"It's not a matter of rejection," he replied. "If Alfred wanted to reject me, he would say it explicitly."

"Placing a warning for you not to enter your room is not an explicit rejection for you?" Francis asked incredulously.

"Nope. It's simply a request for me to not enter the room. If he wanted to reject me, he'd say, 'Arthur, I don’t want to be with you anymore.' "Arthur shrugged.

Francis arched an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you having a too simple look of this situation?”

“I don’t think so,” Arthur answered in all honesty. “Communication with Alfred is really simple if you believe in what he is saying.”

“I don’t know…” Francis muttered in clear disapproval. “If one of my lovers had problems and kept rejecting my help, I would doubt their feelings for me.”

Wouldn’t that make the situation more about Francis than about his partner, who was suffering?, Arthur thought. Wouldn’t it be an additional stress for the person who already was dealing with their own problems? Why was wanting some space was such a hard request to make? Not everyone could recover from their issues with a good night of sex as Francis did.

"Well, that's why Alfred is mine, not yours," Arthur replied, taking a sip of his tea. He couldn’t avoid some smugness in his tone. He knew that Francis, as the photographer of the interview that had led to his reunion with Alfred, tried to hit on Alfred before his husband rejected him to call Arthur for a date. "And believe me, I'm very happy about that."

This conversation with Francis was very good for reminding Arthur of something very important. The fact that despite how lonely it was to leave Alfred on his own, Arthur was currently helping the person he loved to recovery and that was well worth some days missing him.

Then, on the next day, Alfred had changed the arrow on the door to the yellow sign. Yellow meant, "I'm still feeling bad, but I'd like to be near you". Arthur picked up his things from the guest room and brought them back to their room.

* * *

 

Naturally, Arthur's return didn’t make Alfred spontaneously comfortable with talking about how the last days had been for him or when he intended to return to work. That was nothing new. He always became overly aware of himself after a crisis. Initially, the most he did to express his feelings was leaving space in the bed for Arthur to stay by his side.

Used to dealing with his husband, Arthur gladly accepted the opportunity. Knowing they couldn’t talk about certain important topics yet, he chose to talk to Alfred about other things like the game that Alfred was playing all day on the computer, or that the last articles he had written were about random curiosities such as a new restaurant that he had seen on his way home.

Alfred still felt somewhat uneasy and awkward, even while talking about these harmless subjects, but his interest was always captured by Arthur and he ended up asking questions and talking to him about it. Arthur felt very pleased to be able to talk with his husband again.

All this dancing around the forbidden matter lasted three days until one night, when Arthur was casually reading a book beside Alfred in silence, Alfred finally brought it up.

“I hate to look weird in front of people.”

Arthur, who was really immersed in his book until that moment, had to ask what he had said and Alfred repeated word-for-word,

“I hate to look weird in front of people.”

“Oh.” Arthur blinked, putting his book aside. So this was the drama tormenting Alfred’s mind.

"Look, I can’t imagine myself as someone who isn’t on the autism spectrum. I was born with it, I grew up with it, so thinking about what it would be like if my autism disappeared, it's like thinking about being replaced by a completely different person... Like that sci-fi movie. The Bodysnatchers. Did you watch it? Watch it later, it's very good." Alfred started to ramble, swinging his body back and forth, eyes carefully averted to the sheets. "If I had to choose, I would still be autistic. I like being able to read faster than others, being able to memorize a lot of stuff and having ideas that no one else has … That’s all pretty cool. Almost like having superpowers. On the other hand, ugh, I hate being seen simply as the autistic guy, you know? It sucks. Everything I do good or bad is attributed to my condition. That's why I try to disguise it and make people forget about it. I hate it when people feel sorry for me or are impressed by what I do simply because of my autism. Like 'he's so smart for someone who has autism', ‘it must be good to be naturally that smart’ or 'it’s amazing what you accomplished despite being autistic'! I have to be very careful about how I present in front of others because I know that if I don’t, they won’t treat me as a normal person. They will treat me almost like a prodigious child."

Arthur slowly drew his hand closer to Alfred's shoulder. He didn’t want Alfred to react badly to his touch and tried to be obvious about what he was doing, to give Alfred a chance to dodge it if he didn’t want it. Alfred didn’t dodge though. Instead, he intertwined his fingers with Arthur's as his hand reached his shoulder.

"I hate the feeling of being a kind of circus attraction to neurotypicals, who don’t understand what the hell I'm doing and think everything is so enigmatic and out of this world." Alfred muttered annoyed, shaking his head. "I hate it when people look at me and have confirmation that I am what they expect an autistic person to be. Someone who absolutely can’t handle certain things in the environment, who is always hitting himself or moving his arms or ... "

"Do you have something against autistic people who can’t restrain themselves as well as you do? Do you find those people embarrassing? "Arthur confronted him reprehensively.

"No! Of course not! "Alfred exclaimed with wide eyes.

"So why are you sounding like you want to be superior to them?" Arthur shot back.

Upon receiving this accusation, Alfred’s mouth hung half-opened and he put his hands on either side of his head, seeming overwhelmed with this information. Arthur began to wonder if he was a little too harsh on him when…

"What should I do then?" Alfred questioned, desperate. "Who shall I be? I really, really, really don’t want to look weird. I like my autism, I understand how other autistic people feel and still ... I'm not just my autism. I don’t want to be just my autism. I want to be taken seriously! Ah, but I also don’t want to succeed in detriment to other autistic people… I just…!"

"Alfred," Arthur said in a very serious tone, finally making eye contact with his husband and turning his attention to himself. Alfred was too nervous. Too self-conscious. He wasn’t seeing things like Arthur did. "Regardless of your autism, you're weird. I mean, you've made a company called Alien Tech For The Future."

"Hey! My business is doing great! "Alfred snapped back.

“Of course, it is,” Arthur replied placidly. “You know why? Because something weird isn’t something bad. In fact, I think this was the slogan for your company a few years ago.”

This was a perspective that Alfred didn’t have before. He looked very surprised. There was a long moment of silence between them, in which he slowly processed the meaning of Arthur's words.

"So ... I'm like Alien Tech For The Future?" he pointed to himself.

Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Basically.”

“Well, then I’m fucking cool as fuck and I have the best name ever,” Alfred replied determinedly, wrapping his arm around Arthur's shoulders and pulling him closer.

"I can’t say you're wrong about that." Arthur shrugged with a smirk. "I think I have a great taste for men.”

Shortly after this joke, Arthur was kissed in a way that made him forget all the extra jokes he had in mind.

"Dammit, I missed that," Alfred admitted after the kiss.

"I missed _you_." Arthur sighed, putting his hands on Alfred's shoulders. "And I know your employees must be missing you too."

Alfred wilted a little at the thought.

"I don’t want to see them," he grumbled sadly. "I don’t want them to treat me differently because of what happened ..."

"It's your business," Arthur reminded him, sincerely skeptical of the dramatic scene that Alfred seemed to have in mind about his return to work. "Do you really think they'll have time to take pity on you when you're the CEO? Autistic or not, no one pities CEOs, Alfred. At most, they're going to be concerned that you can’t get to work. "Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Hey, this is ceo-scrimination! We're literally a minority! "Alfred joked. The sound of his laugh made relief almost overflow in Arthur's body. He couldn’t contain his tears any longer. "Aww, dear! I’m sorry! Are you sad?  Did I do something wrong? Was this joke offensive???  I’m really sorry!"

Arthur shook his head, unable to stop crying. Alfred, his wonderful husband, though probably still feeling scared about his return to work and ashamed of his state in recent days, hugged him tightly and was strong for him, trying to comfort Arthur with gentle words. Arthur smiled against his chest, feeling deep in his heart that he was a really lucky person.

* * *

 

The next day the sign at the door had turned green.

They had breakfast together. Alfred often repeated "I'm anxious" during the meal, but he was punctual in his habits to leave early for work.

Later, Arthur got a message from him:

_As soon as I arrived, everyone just asked me a bunch of stuff about problems in the departments and about a new contract. Nobody wanted to know about my well-being. I have a great team_

"Are you okay, then?" Arthur sent back.

_I'll be after I come home and make up for all those days I've spent without touching you._

And then, he sent a winking emoji. Then an eggplant emoji. Then four more eggplant emojis. Then, finally, a link to the urban dictionary definition of the eggplant emoji.

Arthur sighed and actually blushed, covering his face with his hands, at his work’s desk.

Yep, this was his husband. The perfect mixture between a jock and a nerd. Smart and stupid. Super-introspective at times and incredibly talkative at others. Bad at reading the atmosphere, but good at instinctively doing things that comforted Arthur. Sometimes too hesitant, sometimes too bold. Agitated, impatient and easy to scare. Funny, adventurous and much sexier than he had a right to be. Unique, a little strange and, at least for Arthur, irreplaceable.

Someone worth waiting for.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was made for the event "Recovery is Possible" organized by the blog usukustwiceperyear.tumblr.com!
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, please, please let me know your thoughts about it!>.<
> 
> Have a lovely day ~
> 
> Btw, I'm an aspie and fuck white LED lights. I said it.


End file.
